


Asparagus

by belovedmuerto



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, Gen, sherlock is allergic to asparagus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-07
Updated: 2012-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-29 02:20:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedmuerto/pseuds/belovedmuerto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs. H gives Sherlock what-for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asparagus

**Author's Note:**

> Another ficlet originally appearing on my tumblr. They're easier to keep track of here, though.

“Now you listen here, young man,” Mrs Hudson started, once Sherlock was sat at her kitchen table. The flat smelled wonderful, and she bustled around the room as she lectured, making him a plate full of roast and potatoes and carrots and asparagus. “I won’t have you breaking John’s heart, do you hear me?”

She gives him a pointed look as she sets the plate in front of him.

“Uh, Mrs Hudson, I’m slightly allergic to asparagus.”

The older woman scoffs. “You will clean your plate, and then you’ll let John take care of you later. No arguments, young man!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sherlock murmurs around a mouthful of roast.

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” she admonishes, but it’s far less emphatic than her orders had been, and she makes him tea just the way he likes it.

Sherlock applies himself to his supper.

___

Later:

John tuts under his breath as he dabs calamine lotion on the hives that have broken out on Sherlock’s chest.

“Mrs Hudson made me eat asparagus,” Sherlock mutters, sounding exactly like the petulant child he looks like, sitting in his pyjama botoms on the side of their bathtub.

“Ah,” John says, nodding, concentrating on dabbing at hives and trying not to grin. “So, she’s trying to get you to admit how you feel to me again, hm?”

Sherlock’s head jerks up in surprise. “John,” he breathes.

“No worries,” John assures him. “No rush. You’ll get to it in your own time.”

Sherlock just stares, completely dumbfounded.

John finishes his ministrations, hands Sherlock his t-shirt, and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Off to bed, Sherlock, you’ll feel better in the morning.”


End file.
